Michael watches from his position on the sofa as yet another screwed up ball of paper flies out of Ben’s hand and heads towards the bin. It misses and ends up adding to the heap that is slowly growing next to the bin.

He looks at Ben, hoping to catch his eye but Ben has put his head down and is busy scribbling furiously at whatever he has been working on for the past two hours.

Michael picks up the latest issue of Rage that he has been reading and wonders what it is

his husband is writing that is causing this paper-mountain to grow at an alarming rate. Usually when Ben sits down with pen in hand, the words seem to fly over the page but tonight, obviously the words that Ben is trying to find seem to elude him.

He has always been in awe of Ben’s ability with words, written and spoken. They just seem to flow out of him. He remembers back to when the first issue of Rage had been printed and had been such a roaring success and Ben had told him that he was "an honest to God writer". He couldn’t believe it – he - Michael Novotny, school drop-out at 16; drifting for years until he had bought the comic book store, was being told that he was a writer, by someone who had a book published, by someone who with his words could make the most mundane happening seem interesting, making you want to keep listening in case you missed something.

He had hugged and embraced those words for days, pulling them out every now and then, reliving the honesty and sincerity in the way Ben had said them and indeed meant them.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another paper ball wiz across then room, this time actually landing in the bin with a thud. Once again, trying to catch Ben’s eye and being ignored, he decided to get back to the latest adventures of Rage, Zephyr and JT trying to stop Dr. Evil from destroying the world. He reads what he’s written and thinks how corny the words sound and knows that Ben could write them so much better.

Words are Ben’s gift and no matter how hard to tries he knows he could never come close to being able to express himself the way Ben can. His mind drifts to the box he has hidden away in their room, filled with every card or note that Ben has ever given him. On the rare occasion he has the house to himself he pulls them out and reads them. He has kept them in the exact order Ben gave them to him and it’s like reading a story of their lives. There are the usual birthday and anniversary cards but others as well; a card saying sorry after their first major fight; celebrating buying their house; Hunter’s adoption becoming final and every one of them is filled with Ben’s beautiful writing and saying exactly the right thing, and expressing love in a way only he can.

The sound of another piece of paper being screwed up brings him back to the present and this one is thrown with such force it ends up hitting the back of the couch, bouncing and ending up in his lap.

He looks up at Ben and this time is rewarded with a tight smile and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Good thing I don’t play basketball isn’t it?"

Michael got up and walked over to the table and stood behind Ben, wrapping his arms around him.

Trying to lighten the mood, he offered "I remember watching you play basketball once and you looked pretty hot as I recall."

"Looking hot and actually being able to play are two different things Michael."

Ben began gathering up the multitude of paper strewn across the table and putting them all into a folder which he snapped shut with more force than was really needed.

"Why don’t you come up to bed and I can show you exactly how hot you are" Michael said, moving his hands down Ben’s chest and stopping when he reached his belt.

Ben pulled a pile of student assignments towards him, "You go up, I’ll be there soon; I have some papers I need to grade before tomorrow".

"Fine!"

Michael decided that nothing he said was going to pull Ben out of this mood he was in and thought that he couldn’t really be bothered anymore anyway. He began tidying up, taking a couple of dirty coffee cups to the kitchen. He checked all the doors were locked; every now and then casting sideways looks at Ben but he had his head down and was making a good show of pretending he was actually reading what was in front of him, but Michael could read him too well and knew that his mind was not on his student’s essays piled high in front of him.

"Goodnight" Michael said, standing at the door.

Ben looked up, gave him a small smile and a mumbled "Goodnight" before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.

The next morning Michael woke up late and found the house empty and a note from Ben saying he was going to the gym after his last class but would be home to cook dinner. Michael hoped that an hour pressing weights would ease some of the tension that Ben seemed to be full of at the moment but wasn’t hopeful. Whatever he was trying to write seemed to be weighing heavily on his mind and Michael wasn’t looking forward to another night of paper-throwing and lack of conversation.

When Ben walked in the door the night Michael could tell from his body language that the work out at the gym had done nothing to alleviate this obvious funk he was in.

Dinner was a quiet affair; Michael ate more because he hated seeing food wasted rather than because he was hungry and Hunter chewed down his like there was no tomorrow while Ben pushed his around his plate, eating next to nothing.

After the table was cleared and the dishes done, Hunter headed off to his room to do his homework with the usual "see you later dudes" comment. Ben once again sat down at the table and pulled out whatever he was trying to write but just sat there staring at it.

Michael sat down on the couch and picked up the TV guide hoping to find something to watch to take his mind off Ben sitting so close but seemingly miles away. When the first ball of paper flew across the room and into the bin, followed by a second, then a third, he decided he’d had enough.

"Ben?" No response.

"Ben?" he said, this time loud enough that Ben couldn’t ignore him.

Ben finally looked up.

"Come here."

"Michael, can’t you see I’m busy?"

"Yeah, I’m busy too, trying to work out how many trees have died so that you can spend every night throwing paper balls into the bin."

Michael was pleased to see that this actually drew a semblance of a smile from Ben.

"Come here" he said again and this time Ben put down his pen and walked slowly over to the couch and sat down.

"Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Michael asked.

"I’m trying to write something."

"No shit, I think I’ve sort of worked that out."

"It’s not funny Michael."

"No, its not and neither is spending every night sitting here watching you – trying to write whatever it is - and you turning into a grouch."

Ben looked at Michael, surprised at the annoyance in his voice.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you".

Michael gave him a small smile and reached over and took his hand. "Tell me what you are trying to write, is it a new novel?"

"No, not exactly…I’m trying to write something for you."

Michael looked at Ben, surprise showing in his eyes. "For me?"

"Yes, I’m trying to put our lives together on paper; to tell you what the last five years have meant to me."

"Stop!" Michael said, standing up and pulling Ben to his feet.

"What?" Ben wasn’t sure what Michael was up to.

"Come with me." Michael began walking out of the room and up the stairs, pulling a confused Ben behind him.

They got to their room and he pushed Ben down onto the bed and reached under the bed and pulled out the box.

He sat down next to Ben and open it and Ben’s eyes widened as he watched Michael turn the box upside down, card after card falling onto the bed.

"You’ve already told me what our lives together mean to you - Its all here, in this box and here… [placing his hand on his chest] in my heart."

Michael continued "I can tell you every word written on every card but I don’t need you to write them; I see them in your eyes every time you look at me and feel them in the way that you touch me."

Ben couldn’t speak. He couldn’t believe that Michael had kept these cards, literally hundreds of them. He looked into Michaels eyes and he could see the love shining out of them and knew that Michael was right, the love he has for him could not be expressed in words, that there were no words to describe it, that it went beyond words.

He pulled Michael to him and kissed him deeply and pushed him onto the bed, amongst all the cards and began to slowly undress him and show him exactly how much he loved him.

No words necessary.